


Spring

by oerhisheartashadow



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: And some switchery, Domtara, F/M, He missed her okay?, How am I supposed to tag this sort of stuff???, I take suggestions people, I'm showing my age, Lemons, Oral, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Smut, Some dom!Zuko?, Zutara, and She missed him too, okay, this is my first pwp okay!, zuko and katara
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:00:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29099184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oerhisheartashadow/pseuds/oerhisheartashadow
Summary: She leaves for the Winter.It's tradition. He understands it. But he hates it all the same. How is he supposed to breathe without her?She comes back in the Spring.It's a celebration. He revels in it. She moves like the wind through the willows, as strong and overwhelming as a spring squall.He always welcomes the return of Spring.
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 106





	Spring

**Author's Note:**

> ... This is a burner account. If you know me, no you don't. If you don't, good. 
> 
> That being said: This is my first real smut, so please forgive me for any awkwardness. 
> 
> Really, at the heart of it all, it all boils down to what one poet summarized smut to be:
> 
> "They fuck."

Spring has returned. 

With it comes the ambassadors from the North and South. 

The celebration is a heady experience: deep drum beats accentuated by graceful steps and piercingly clear alcohol. It’s come to be Zuko’s favorite tradition. 

She is a blur across the floor, feet ever so graceful across the polished stone of the courtyard. Moonlight dances in her hair, as playful as the glint in her eye. She spins, moving further across the room;, he is pulled towards her, his breath dependant on her closeness. How he survives the six months that the Ambassador of the Southern Water Tribe goes home for her winter, he still isn’t certain. Then she turns back, and his breath returns, and she is spinning-- into the Earth Kingdom Representative’s arms. 

He feels the flair of jealousy behind his breastbone, stirring up a fire in his belly. Then she looks over the representative’s shoulder and Zuko feels the flame die, only to be replaced by something far warmer, something far deeper. Her eyes lock firmly on his, purposefully cutting through the gaggle of eligible Fire Nation noblewomen who crowd him more often these days. 

Zuko can name the look--after all she’s usually given it across the bed-- but he finds his mouth going dry at how unabashedly she’s locked her eyes on his. It’s a promise, a guarantee, an oath that by the end of this night she will leave him speechless, lost to her control. The heat in his belly moves decidedly lower.

Spring has returned. 

The drum beats break, and Katara bows politely to the representative who seems out of breath, both from the dance and--taking in his star-struck gaze--also from his dance partner. For all of his jealousy, Zuko can’t blame him. 

She walks like she dances--steady, purposeful, sensuous. 

The little twigs of the nobility get swept away in her tide as she nears. She doesn’t spare them a glance as she dips into a formal bow, her eyes following his lines as she moves, taking the free opportunity. When he returns the gesture, he can feel the sunless days of the long polar winters accumulated in her eyes, shining back at him in all their regained intensity.

Her hand slots easily into his, but her skin dancing over his for the first time in four months sends sparks across up his spine, and he leads her to the floor. 

It’s not until the music starts up once more that he realizes they have yet to actually speak. And yet, he feels no spur to start the conversation, their words loud in the motions of their bodies. 

_ I’ve missed you,  _ his fingers whisper across her hip.

_ I’ve missed you too,  _ the brush of her knee against his responds.

_ You look beautiful,  _ whispers the lingering graze of his arm across her waist as he pulls her in from a turn.

_ Speak for yourself _ , the tight angle of her shoulder retorts as she twists out again from him. 

_ I don’t want to do this again, _ the firm set of his lips placate.

_ Me either, _ the sharp light in her eyes agrees.

He watches her as she moves, the words of her body shifting into a language he can't translate, but that he knows all too well.

The song ends too soon, and while they separate at the floor, their eyes never leave one another.

So when Katara slips from the crowd, bidding farewells, and feigning over-the-top yawns, he watches her intently, already planning his method of escape.

He estimates twenty minutes to escape. 

It takes forty. 

He curses silently to himself as he enters the muted and empty halls of the palace. She will not be happy to be kept waiting. 

With deft steps, he approaches her door. He knows better than to knock. As the door almost-silently latches shut behind him, he takes in the room. 

The only sources of light come from a single lantern glowing in the dim, and the full moon that streams in through the open balcony doors. Clothes are strewn across the room in a trail towards the bed, and he follows their instructions.

Her outer gown, at the threshold, his joins methodically. 

Her jewelry at the small table. 

Cautiously, his crown and pin join.

Her shoes-- 

\--flicked towards the vanity. 

His join eagerly.

Her inner robe--

\--discarded at the foot of the bed. 

His joins wantonly. 

He spots her wrappings--

\--at the edge of the bed--

\--but he stops. 

It’s only then that he actually sees her, her bare skin tangled in the sheets. Dark is now like silver in moonlight, and he wants nothing more than to touch it. 

Kneeling at the edge of the bed, he takes her in. Eyes closed, her covered chest rises and falls slow and steady. 

Dark hair drapes like a wave behind her, and he moves to shift an errant strand from her face when her eyes flutter open. He smiles down at her. 

“Hi.”

Her lip twists mischievously, before she pulls away. 

“You’re late.” Petulance dances at the edge of her words.

“I couldn’t just follow you. You know that.”

A pout dips her lip, and he reaches once more for her, his thumb chasing the bottom edge.

He gasps suddenly as she pulls his thumb between her lips, sucking ever so gently. The deep heat in his core flares. 

The smile on her lips is impossible to hide, so he climbs on to the bed, letting his fingers trace her lines, before settling on the edge of her hip, his unoccupied thumb tracing circles. Releasing his thumb with a kiss, she places her lips gently against the soft part of his wrist, the corner of his elbow, his shoulder, before he turns his head to capture her lips with his. 

Only for her to pull away. 

He growls softly. 

“Uh-uh... “ She waggles a finger in his face. “You were late.” Her other hand drops, fingertips down the line of his sternum…

His eyes flash in the dark. “I couldn’t help it.”

… past the scar on his chest...

“Mmm…” The disapproval is evident in her tone. “We both know that’s not true.”

...across his navel… 

“What--” his words hiss from between his teeth as her fingers make their way agonizingly slowly south, “--would you have me do, Katara?”

...to the line of his undergarments…

“Obey.”

…under the soft line of his waistband, gripping him firmly.

His fingers dig into the soft skin of her hip spasming slightly as she drags her palm across his length. 

“I want to.” The words escape him without thought, but he finds that he means it. So instead of shying away from the thought, he leans into it. “Show me how.”

Something new, something sharp flashes in Katara’s eyes, and it takes his breath away. She pulls her hand away from him, and he sucks in a breath at her sudden withdrawal. But she doesn’t stay away for long. With a shove, she rolls him on to his back. She follows, a single finger plucks at his waistband. 

“These need to go.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Her lips curl into a smile as he moves, quickly stripping himself of the impediment. She straddles his knees, blue eyes taking him in slowly, moonlight casting a glow of alabaster across his skin in its light. 

The hungry look from earlier is still in her eyes. 

The words fall out of him like a stumble. “You dance beautifully.” 

Her genuine laugh cuts through them. 

“Well, I figured you liked it.” Her face grows serious and she leans in. “I felt you watching me.”

Lacing his fingers into her hair, he tries to lead her lips to his, only to have her pull away after a simple peck. Frustration tries to flare in him, but instead he uses it to fuel him. His fingers explore each curve with renewed vigor, and she shimmies up to straddle his hips. But when he tries to tip their hips, she merely shifts away. 

“Not yet,” she smirks down at him. Her words disappear as he pinches a pebbled nipple between his fingers. His other hand followed the swell of her hips, his hand dipping between them, only to rub circles against her. She twists and turns against his ministrations, but when he slips his fingers inside, she steadies for a long moment, allowing a gasp to escape her.    
  
Slowly, methodically, he moves against her, letting her grind against his hand between them, before she reaches behind her, grabbing him firmly. “I said,  _ ‘Not Yet _ .’”

A groan escapes his parted lips. She leans forward, placing a kiss to his stomach, moving steadily down. Releasing him, she shimmies down once more. Her lips follow her descent. She places a gentle kiss to the apex of his thigh, her fingers tracing the line of him. 

She smiles down at him before dipping her head. He starts as she runs the flat of her tongue along the underside of his cock. Parting her lips, she takes him in slowly into her mouth, and the groan that escapes him sends a shiver down her back. He follows it with his fingers, before returning them back to the hair at the back of her neck. She snags his wrists, her eyes glaring up at him, and she pulls away with a pop.

“I told you… you were late. You don’t get to have all the fun if you’re late.”

He pauses for a moment, trying to catch his breath, but nods.

“Then do what I tell you.” When there’s no argument, just his eyes on her, she continues. “No touching.”

He balks. 

“ _ No touching? _ ” his voice is incredulous. 

She smirks, placing a gentle kiss to where she had been so devilishly moving just moments prior. 

With a determined look, she casts his wrists to his sides. When she releases them and he stays where he is, she nods, finally gripping at his hips before bringing her lips once more around him. It takes all of his will power to keep his hands at his side, gripping at the sheets.

He groans.

She swallows.

He hisses.

She digs her nails into his hip.

And she looks up, meeting his eyes, a look of determination across her face, but laced with something soft. 

“I’m… I’m going to …”

His words are stuttered, broken. The grip on his hips presses him deeper into the bed, stilling his motions. Methodically, calculated, she withdraws. Hovering just over him, she smirks, and when she talks, her lips brush the oversensitive skin.

“No.” Her voice is rough, and the soft brush of air against the wet skin sets his teeth on edge. “No, you’re not.”

Tantalizingly slow, her fingers dance across him, and for a moment he ponders if she had learned to bend his element as well--the burn of her fingers lingers long after they have moved on. When she pulls him deep into her mouth with a rush, he can feel the flames licking at his own lips. Throwing his head back into the bed, a shattered groan escapes him. 

Her fingers dig into his skin again, a warning, and his groan shifts into a growl. She shuffles slightly, and the realization occurs to him: she’s struggling to maintain her own pace. A smirk pulls at his lips, but he quickly schools it under her gaze. 

Tentatively, he pulls a hand from the sheets he clutched. A single finger dances across her knuckles on his hip. Her eyes fly open, meeting his, a fire in them but she doesn’t move to stop him. Growing bold, he traces her lines with his fingertips, watching the goosebumps that follow in his wake. It makes sense, the hungry voice in his head whispers, if she can burn him, he should be able to chill her.

But when he cards his fingers in her hair, the fire in her eyes flares. With a swirl of her tongue, his fingers still. With a hard swallow, he bites back a cry. He grips her hair, desperate, feeling the release mounting, only for her to pull back with a rush again. 

Eyes wide, he meets her impish gaze. 

“I said,  _ no touch. _ ”

He can feel the fire blaze. Suddenly spurred, he pulls her up to him, letting her hover over him, but his eyes glow in the moonlight. He lets his fingers roam her, and the soft chuckle on her lips has a slight chastisement.

“What do you think you’re doing?” There’s a challenge in the edge of her voice, in the lift of her brow.

“I already broke the rules.” If it were any other woman above him, he’d hate how rough, how shattered his voice already is. “Why stop now?” 

She moves as if to pull away, but he twists his legs in hers, spinning them. He smirks down at her. 

“My turn.”

His fingers find her core first, hot and wet, as his lips follow the curves and peaks of her body. It’s not more than a few brushes against her before she bucks into his hand. His lips quirk up at her, but the look is lost, as her head is thrown back, eyes squeezed tight. The line of her throat is accentuated in the moonlight, and he traces it with his tongue, red and purple blossoming across her skin. Her fingertips press into his shoulders. 

Satisfied with his work, he moves determinedly down her body again. 

The angle of her collarbone.

“I’ve missed you.” He whispers into her skin like a prayer.

The valley of her breasts.

“Your smile, your glare.”

The edge of her ribs.

“That  _ look _ you give to idiotic councilmen.”

The soft curve of her waist.

“That  _ look _ you give to me.”

The peak of her hip bone. 

“Your body in my hands, against me.”

He hovers above her center, his warm breath against her core, but her eyes are locked on his. 

“I love you, Katara.”

Her eyes are soft, and her fingers card into his hair. Before she can gather her words, he dips his head, running his tongue across her. She bucks, keening into his touch, and he hums against her. Fingers tightening in his hair, her legs spasm against his ears, but he refuses to stop. She twitches and dances under his ministrations, his name on her tongue. 

Her words stutter out of her. “Z-Zuko, I--” 

He feels her pull at his hair, and he follows their lead, meeting her bright gaze. Hair wild, her mouth slightly agape, he sees her try to form his name with her lips. Her taste on his lips, he finds he wants to see what his name on hers tastes like. He smiles, eyes playful, before he begins his journey once more up her body, his fingers taking the place of his mouth. 

She moans as he trails up her body, seeding it with small kisses and gentle nips. He pauses by her ear, his warm breath running a shiver down her body, even as she bucks against his hand.

“You called?”

Her eyes are squeezed tight, face screwed up, a gasp on her lips. 

“In.” It’s a command. “I want you in me.”

A nip at her pulse point startles her, but before she can respond, he shifts to settle over her. 

"Yes ma'am."

He moves slowly letting himself sink into her. She flows like water, shifting and twisting to him. His lip catches between his teeth as her hips settle firmly against his. A shuddering breath escapes him, his fingers tight against her thighs before he begins to move. 

Slowly, the soft noise of the night is punctuated but the swell and dip of their passion; her gasps, his groans, the lewdly wet noises passing between them. She climaxes with his name on her lips. He climaxes with her name carried on flames. 

Bonelessly, he collapses forward, catching himself on his hands, bracketing her. Her fingers trace unidentifiable shapes on the lines of his arms. As their breathing slows, he pulls from her, but falls to her side.

She rolls to face him.

"Did you mean it?" Her voice is soft, hesitant. Golden eyes snap open at her words. Anxiety beats in his chest, and he cups her face. She knows, doesn't she?

"Katara, what do you mean?"

She drops her gaze, watching her fingers trace the lines of his chest mindlessly.

"That you missed me." Her words grow softer and he strains to hear her. "That you love me."

"Katara…" his voice is broken, pained. He's told her, he knows he has...

"I know! I just…" her eyes turn away. 

He dips his head to meet her wandering gaze. "Katara, if you don't know that's how I feel," his tone is soft, sorrowful, "then I'm not showing you enough." 

She meets his gaze, panicked. "Zuko, no, it's not you, it's just--"

Shaking his head, he stops her retraction. "No, there's no excuse. You deserve to know without a shadow of a doubt."

Tears start to glisten at the corner of her eyes, but she doesn't protest. He smiles down at her.

"Yes, Katara, I missed you. There are times it feels like I can't breathe when you're gone." 

He presses a gentle kiss to her forehead.

"And yes, Katara, I love you. Every bit of you. Even the times when you're spirits damned stubborn about something we both know you're wrong about."

"I'm never wrong." The beginning of a twinkle in her eye starts to ease the ache in his stomach. 

"--Even when you're wrong. I love you then most of all."

He considers her expression for a long moment while it softens into a hesitant smile. For a moment, he soaks her in, this private space between them.

"I think I know what I have to do."

She quirks her head, a question in her eyes.

"I think," he says slowly, watching her expression closely, "that it's time we move out of the shadows."

"You mean… make our relationship public?"

He nods. This is not the first time this discussion was brought up, but it is the first time she hasn't immediately shut down the offer. He watches her consider, something hopeful blooming in his chest.

"I think you might be right, Zuko."

The smile that erupts across his face is bright enough to light the entire room. 

"Wait, did you say I was right?" 

She rolls her eyes, playfully shoving his shoulder. 

"Don't let it get to your head. Besides," she raises a challenging brow, "just because you're right doesn't mean you're not disobedient."

"You didn't seem to mind my disobedience."

"Mm… it  _ was _ good." She rolls onto her back, considering the ceiling with a far off look, before turning her face back to him. "But maybe I had more plans for you…"

He leans forward pausing just before her. "Guess we'll have to save them for later."

Lifting herself, she meets his lips with a deceptively chaste kiss. "Who said anything about later?"

"You're insatiable."

"You're welcome."

His chuckle is chased away by her lips on his, before she pulls away to rest her forehead against his. 

"Zuko?"

"Mm?" He can feel the night's exhaustion beginning to settle in his bones and he allows the excuse to pull her tight against him. She curls into his chest, legs intertwined. Her words flit up from where she's pressed against him. 

"I love you, too."

He holds her tighter, a lopsided grin blossoming across his face, and together they drift into sleep. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This was largely inspired by "Movement" by Hozier. I may have listened to it on repeat as I sipped gin and ginger and spat this insanity out onto the page. If you haven't heard it (shame, shame!) go listen.


End file.
